Traveling Through Ancient Times to Be a Teacher - Chapter 36

By the year’s end, Chu Ci and his two students had agreed to meet again on the tenth day of the first lunar month, then went their separate ways.

He first stopped by Hanmo Bookstore, submitted his latest illustration drafts for the storybook, and discussed the printing details of his questions compendium with Shopkeeper Lu. After collecting his payment, he left.

Because of his disastrous spending spree the last time he went shopping—only to later realize he’d overpaid for almost everything—he had since been banned from shopping altogether. Besides, it was already the twenty-seventh of the twelfth month, and all the New Year goods had long been prepared at home.

The following days were a blur of preparations. It was the first time Chu Ci had ever experienced such a lively and traditional New Year. Everything—from sweeping the house and pasting spring couplets to cutting window flowers and frying meatballs with little Xiaoyuan—felt new and festive.

In his modern life, New Year’s Eve meant booking a restaurant, sitting down for a fancy meal, and then listening to his family dive into heated discussions about their respective academic fields.

Sometimes, Chu Ci suspected that his parents secretly wished their dinner companions were their students, so at least someone would take notes on their debates.

Back in high school, Chu Ci had actually excelled at science. He’d chosen literature only so he could talk to them more—but in the end, he found himself falling in love with it for his own reasons.

Now, sitting with his family, sipping wine, watching the snowfall, cracking jokes, and speaking of their hopes for the future—this was the kind of warmth he’d never known before.

After New Year’s Day came the string of visits to relatives.

On the second day, his aunt arrived with her husband and children, filling the house with noise. He was as boastful as ever, bragging endlessly about the powerful people he supposedly knew. The entire Chu family was used to it—his cousins included, who nodded absentmindedly until the guests finally left, full and satisfied.

On the third day, they visited Chu Ci’s uncle’s home. Both aunts there prepared a large spread—nothing extravagant, but the food was excellent.

On the fourth day, Chu Guang, Shen Xiuniang, and Chu Xiaoyuan went to visit the Shen family, planning to stay a few days.

Normally, Chu Ci should have gone to Master Qin’s residence to pay respects, but his teacher always spent the New Year with his wife’s family in the provincial capital. He’d already told Chu Ci to visit him at the county academy afterward instead.

Thus, the house was left with only Chu Ci and his mother.

Madam Chu, ever sociable, went out daily with her group of old friends, hopping from one household to another. Before long, she had completely forgotten about her son.

Chu Ci, for his part, considered joining the young men of the village for some socializing—but after rummaging through the original body’s memories, he found not a single friend to speak of.

Helpless, he stayed home. Fortunately, Qin Zhao happened to visit the village for New Year’s, and the two soon became inseparable hunting partners.

In winter, animals grew sluggish. After a few days of following along, Chu Ci even managed to catch a wild rabbit himself—which, that very night, became the family’s dinner.

And just like that, the tenth day of the first month arrived.

After saying goodbye to his family, Chu Ci boarded the mule cart waiting to take him to the Zhang Wenhai residence.

Zhang Wenhai and Fang Jinyang greeted him eagerly at the gate. After exchanging pleasantries and catching up, they entered the study—where Zhang Wenhai seemed ready to chat further, only for Chu Ci to speak first:

“Brother Kuo Zhi, Brother Jinyang—please take out your assignments. It’s been over ten days; I trust you’ve both made great progress.”

Zhang Wenhai’s smile froze. He glanced at Fang Jinyang, who was already fetching his papers. With a resigned sigh, Zhang Wenhai followed suit.

Chu Ci reviewed Fang Jinyang’s work first, flipping page after page before nodding with satisfaction. “Brother Jinyang is diligent as always. The compositions are well done—only here, you must remember to avoid tabooed characters.”

In their time, writers had to avoid the personal names of emperors, ancestors, and sages—a mistake in that regard could mean the loss of one’s scholarly title, or worse, a literary inquisition.

The reigning emperor’s tabooed name was Jiao, and Fang Jinyang had written “bright as the moon’s radiance (jiao jiao).” He’d likely written it smoothly and forgotten himself.

Fang Jinyang paled. “Many thanks, Brother Chu! I almost made a grave mistake!”

“No harm done. Just memorize the names of past and present emperors. You’ll be fine.”

After assigning Fang Jinyang another topic to ponder, Chu Ci turned to Zhang Wenhai’s stack.

As he read, his fingers began tapping rhythmically on the table—each tap making Zhang Wenhai’s heartbeat pound louder.

Finally, Chu Ci looked up and smiled warmly. “Brother Kuo Zhi, these poems on plum blossoms and snow are very well written. Especially this line—‘The spring breeze cannot comprehend the snow’s longing’—quite tender and romantic. It seems good fortune may be near.”

Zhang Wenhai laughed awkwardly. He was newly of age, and his family had indeed begun seeking a bride for him—his thoughts had been a bit… distracted lately.

“But tell me,” Chu Ci said, raising his red brush to mark several passages, “what exactly do these phrases mean?”

He circled multiple “classical references,” nearly all fabricated. It reminded him of his former students back in modern times, who loved stuffing essays with fake quotations—some even citing things like ‘Wozki Shuo De’ (a completely made-up foreign name) and somehow still managing to pass. The thought made him want to laugh and sigh all at once.

Zhang Wenhai stammered, unable to explain. 

During the holidays, his house had been full of guests, leaving him little peace to study—so he’d written whatever came to mind, even borrowing dream fragments like “Scholar Meng saw a white-striped tiger from his couch…”

Chu Ci mercifully cut him off. “Very well. Brother Jinyang, you only need to complete one essay today. Brother Kuo Zhi, three will suffice.”

Zhang Wenhai nearly wept with relief—until he saw the topics Chu Ci handed him: fragmented and spliced quotations, worse than usual. 

Meanwhile, Fang Jinyang’s single essay was simply an extended passage to analyze.

It was clear Brother Chu had not forgiven him.

After checking their assignments, Chu Ci began on his own work. Master Qin had tasked him with writing one poem per day, a routine he’d never neglected.

At first, he’d filled in rhymes mechanically, forcing words into awkward structures. His verses had looked elegant but were empty and stiff. But after much practice, inspiration began to come naturally. Some phrases he wrote on a whim grew more profound the longer he read them. On one inspired day, he’d written three poems in a row, all describing common folk customs—simple, yet full of meaning.

Today’s poem too came from life—it told of mischievous children testing their teacher’s patience, clearly inspired by Chu Xiaoyuan and Zhang Wenhai.

Days passed smoothly. When the Lantern Festival arrived on the fifteenth, Chu Ci invited his entire family to town to see the lantern fair.

He politely declined Zhang Wenhai’s invitation to celebrate at their house, instead booking three rooms at an inn where his family could gather.

The next morning, after sending them off, he returned to the Zhang Wenhai residence—only to run into Huzi, the errand boy from Hanmo Bookstore.

“Scholar Chu! You’re finally back! The shopkeeper’s looking for you—come quick!”

“What’s so urgent?” Chu Ci asked, puzzled. Surely this wasn’t just another request for more illustrations?

“You’ll know when you see—it’s good news!”

Chu Ci sensed something important and quickened his pace.

When they reached the bookshop, Huzi bowed. “Upstairs, please.”

On the second floor, several men were waiting. Besides Shopkeeper Lu, Chu Ci recognized none of them.

“Ah, Scholar Chu, you’ve come,” said Lu quickly. “Allow me to introduce everyone. This is Clerk Zhang Wenhai, from the County Magistrate’s office; these are Manager Huang and Manager Qi from the two largest publishing houses in the county; and this is Master Xu, the gentleman who previously purchased your illustrations.”

Chu Ci’s brow twitched. What on earth was this lineup?

Clerk Zhang Wenhai was essentially the chief secretary to the magistrate—the equivalent of a department head. The two managers were publishing executives, far above the level of a small-town bookseller like Lu. And Master Xu? He was watching him with strange intent.

Still, outwardly, Chu Ci remained perfectly calm—bowing courteously to each man, his demeanor polite and composed.

The others exchanged approving looks. The youth before them was every bit as refined as his work suggested.

“Truly, heroes emerge young,” Clerk Zhang Wenhai began warmly. “When the Magistrate read your question anthology, he was astonished—he said only a man of great talent could devise such questions. I grew curious and came personally. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”

“You honor me too much,” Chu Ci replied modestly. “I merely compiled the wisdom of many into one volume—hardly worthy of such praise.”

“Haha, too humble! After reading your anthology, the Magistrate presented it to his esteemed father—an Advanced Scholar from the 38th year of Jiayou’s reign. Even he declared it excellent.
That’s why I’m here—to discuss a proposal.”

Chu Ci smiled politely. “Please speak freely. I’m listening.”

“The Magistrate worries deeply for our county’s students,” Zhang Wenhai said with a dramatic sigh. “Across Ganzhou Prefecture, the number of scholars and licentiates increases yearly—except here in Yuanshan County, where it declines. Each time he thinks of it, he blames himself for failing to govern well, letting local talent go unnoticed.”

The others nodded gravely. Chu Ci matched their tone, sighing with just the right amount of sympathy. 

He thought to himself: Modern flatterers should come take lessons from these people—this is how real professionals do it.

“But recently,” Zhang Wenhai continued, “after reading your anthology, the Magistrate felt great relief. He said, ‘If our county had more talents like this young man, how could we not thrive?’ If we distribute your book to every student in the county, the number of new scholars will surely rise this year.”

The smiles that bloomed across their faces were dazzling—like rainbows after rain. Chu Ci nearly applauded their theatrical timing.

At last, he understood. The Magistrate wanted to publish his anthology countywide, likely under his own name, to win both prestige and gratitude from future scholars.

Still, Chu Ci saw no harm in it. So long as his name remained among the credited compilers, he’d gain reputation and steady royalties. A county magistrate’s endorsement could only help.

With a respectful bow, he said, “To serve the Magistrate and aid our county’s students is my honor. Please handle the publication as you see fit.”

Meaning: Take it—just don’t forget who actually wrote it.

The officials exchanged satisfied smiles.

“I hear you named the anthology Cihai (Question Compendium’)?”

Chu Ci nodded. “It was just a spur-of-the-moment title. The Magistrate may, of course, rename it.”

“Very well, I’ll convey that. Now, it’s nearly noon. How about we all share a meal?”

Before Chu Ci could answer, Shopkeeper Lu chimed in eagerly, “No need, no need! Gentlemen, I’ve already booked a table at Zuixiang Restaurant. Please, give me the honor of hosting.”

“Hahaha, Shopkeeper Lu, you’re too kind! In that case, we shall not refuse.”

They all filed out together toward the restaurant.

At the entrance stood a local constable, bowing respectfully. “Gentlemen, the Town Mayor awaits inside.”

Upstairs, Mayor Chen was already standing in the private room. When he saw Clerk Zhang Wenhai, he exclaimed, “Master Zhang ! What a rare guest—why didn’t you send word ahead? I’d have welcomed you properly!”

“Haha, no need for fuss, old Chen. I didn’t want to make a scene, but you have sharp ears—it seems I couldn’t hide it anyway. Just the other day, I was dining with Wang Jue, and he mentioned you. Said the Magistrate himself praised your excellent governance—that a real talent came out of your town.”

Mayor Chen, who normally outranked no one outside his district, straightened instantly. After all, Clerk Zhang Wenhai was the county vice magistrate’s father-in-law—the man practically radiated influence.

“The Magistrate mentioned me?” Chen gasped, flustered. “Ah, I’m so unworthy! May I ask—which talent did he praise?”

Zhang Wenhai gestured toward Chu Ci. “Why, this young Scholar Chu, of course.”